(This is a fictional poetic series and short story about events that never take place and about people that have never existed. Any representation of an actual event or person is purely coincidental in nature. Because of the adult violent, graphic language and sexual content, the writer strongly suggests parental consent before young children read the story.)

The U.S. Army Ranger Series, the Journey Begins

This is a fictional story of the missions of the 23rd Ranger Battalion of Fort Hope.

This the first story in a series of exciting covert ops missions that follows Private First Class Jamal A. Walker and the members of the 23rd Ranger Battalion through an assortment of spine-tingling exploits.

Read as they encounter many dangerous enemies and fight to overcome many challenges of military service.

This exciting series will keep you on the edge of your seat as it reveal twists and turn never imagined.

The U. S. Army Rangers, The Journey Begins has been placed on this website:

http://www.webook.com/projects.aspx?pn=Preacher1st

Please visit the sites often to check for updates to the U. S. Army Ranger, a poetic short stroy series.

All intellectual property of this author has been copyrighted and all rights are reserved by Pastor Reginald Levi Walker.

 
Chapter 1: The midnight blue 1964 Ford

In 1967, Roosevelt Walker enlisted into the Army and served in Heong Nu, Vietnam with the 11th Calvary. He worked as a mechanic in the motor pool. In 1974 after honorably discharging from the military after two tours in Vietnam, he returned to Selma to marry Janie Carter. In 1976, the couple opened Walker Automotive. The first location was a small lot on Dallas Avenue. The company quickly grew from a mechanic shop into a tiny used car dealership. After three profitable years of exceptional car sales, Roosevelt purchased some property on Highway 80 near Marion Junction. On October 1, 1980, he opened the Walker Ford dealership. The couple’s last child was born less than a month later. Jamal turned seventeen on October 31, 1997 and enlisted into the United States Army a month later.

In July of 1997, a few months before enlisting, Jamal and his father located an old truck body at Ben Peeve's Truck savage yard on Marion Junction Highway. The moment Jamal saw the rusty windowless step side truck, he knew he wanted it. However, his father was reluctant to purchase the old truck body. After some pleading with his father and a little bargaining with Mr. Peeve, the old truck was purchased for one hundred dollars. Later, the Walker Ford dealership's black and blue wrecker truck towed the rusty wreck to the dealership’s paint and body shop. Since Roosevelt owned the local Ford dealership in the small rural town, the truck was restored to factory specification. Everything was rebuilt or replace with Ford parts. The large rusty bumpers and the original grill were re-chromed and glistened brightly. The old torn bench seat was removed and reupholstered in the original blue tweed fabric. The windows, the inside floor and the rocker panels were replaced because of damage and rust. The useless six-cylinder motor and transmission were replaced with a completely chromed high performance 351 Cleveland engine with a Holley four-barrel carburetor and a new racing transmission. The suspension was upgraded and the old radio was replaced with a new Pioneer sound system. Hank Sanders custom-made the treated dark brown oak boards for the bed of the truck. Other than that, the rust brown 1964 Ford step side truck was original.

Right before Jamal graduated from the U. S. Army ranger school his mother asked Henry Reed, the supervisor of the paint shop at the dealership, to paint the restored Ford midnight blue with a purple pearl clear coat. His oldest brother, Randall, purchased some special low profile racing tires and custom twenty-inch rims for the restored Ford truck. They were shipped in from the Burning Rubber speed shop in Long Beach, California. Private First Class Jamal Antonio Walker’s graduation from the ranger school was scheduled for Friday, March 30, 2001 at the Army Ranger School in Fort Benning, Georgia. Fifteen members of the Walker family took the drive to the graduation ceremony. His father and mother drove the freshly painted truck from Marion to Fort Benning for his graduation ceremony. Sandra's husband, Darnel Williams, and Reginald, Sandra's son drove Roosevelt's silver gray 1999 Lincoln Continental. Randall, his sister Sandra, and the rest of the family arrived in Darnel's eggshell white Expedition and Randall's royal blue Excursion.

After the long traditional military graduation ceremony, Jamal decided to take a thirty-day leave and traveled home to rural Selma, Alabama. For three enjoyable weeks, his days consisted of meeting old high school friends and chatting with Henry at the dealership's paint shop. His nights were occupied with loud wild parties, flirtatious ex-girlfriends, and a lot of club hopping. Because Janie had converted his old bedroom into her home office, Jamal decided to stay at Darnel and Sandra's split level white and brown frame house. Four days before the end of his leave, Jamal hesitantly hugged and kissed his entire family goodbye. Right before the graduation ceremony, the army assigned Jamal to Fort Hope in Hackberry, Louisiana. He was about to start his long hard drive to Fort Hope and begin his spine tingling journey as an U.S. Army Ranger.

 
Chapter 2: The barracks of C Company

In the murky mosquito infested swamp waters of Johnson Bayou, live many dangerous fearless alligators, deadly poisonous snakes, and other loathsome creatures; these waters are also the home of Fort Hope and the ferocious U. S. Army Ranger Covert Operations Division. Fort Hope is located 43 miles southwest of Hackberry, Louisiana. The military placed the base on the north side of Johnson Bayou. Constructed in 1942 in the middle of the Louisiana's humid swamps, Fort Hope is the smallest of three covert operations installation inside our border. They respond only to orders from the President and the Department of Defense in Washington D.C.

Jamal was delighted that he had finally received his belongings. It had taken over two months for his antique furniture and all of his other belongings to arrive from Fort Benning. After loading the heavy cardboard moving boxes into the bed of his restore antique pickup truck; Jamal quickly started the loud engine of his 1964 Ford step side pickup truck. The deep bellow of the high performance engine thundered through the dual tailpipes. The thin white metal speed odometer needle quickly shot pass fifty and abruptly stopped on eighty-five. He headed toward Company C's barracks with the back of his Ford truck packed with moving boxes and a small wooden roll top desk.

Jamal glanced at his black Army issued combat watch on his right wrist as he raced down the two-lane state road 27. The radio announcer's smooth voice came from the two 15 inch Pioneer competition woofers behind the seat of the truck. ‘It is 10:37 a.m., Monday, July 9, 2001.' His deep bass voice flowed out of speakers, ‘It is a steamy 98 degrees and rising this hot summer morning. The National Weather Service said this heat wave should last for at least three more days. By Sunday, we should get some rainfall, folks.' As he pulled the midnight blue Ford into the barracks parking lot, KRSX call letters were given out over the radio. The tires loudly screeched as Jamal quickly slowed the dusty truck down.

The four-story brown brick building of C Company was built around 1968 to replace World War II barracks that were destroyed by Hurricane Mary. However, because of the harsh swamp conditions and the humid temperatures, the old brick building quickly aged. Jamal planned to make this co-ed building home for the next few years or at least until he can save enough money to move off base. The unit sergeant assigned him a large room at the end of the hall on the second floor. Six hours ago, Jamal's belongings arrived on the large military base and now a dozen plain brown moving boxes littered the white vinyl tile floor of the room. He carefully hung a picture of his family on the white wall over his army issued gray metal twin bed. His black Dell laptop was plugged into the beige wall socket next to the small wooden antique roll-top desk. As Jamal finish unpacking his things, a breeze from the air conditioner slightly moved the sheer blue curtain by the only window in the room.

The summer on the concrete lined military base was extremely hot and humid. The temperature on an average summer day could quickly reach the three-digit mark. As tiny semi transparent waves of heat flickered from the hot brown brick windowsill, Jamal reached over some unopened cardboard boxes to open the apartment-sized white refrigerator to get a Coca-Cola. The refrigerator was empty except for one half-empty bottle of tropical punch Gatorade. ‘I should have stopped by the store before I came to the room,' he said aloud. Jamal was very hot and thirsty. He unpacked the last of his military field gear, stacked the empty cardboard boxes by the brown wooden door to his room, and headed for the drink machine in the open recreational area of the coed barracks. During this time of the day, soldiers filled the room to watch television, shoot pool, or just lay around. It cost one dollar for a sixteen-ounce drink. Jamal fished around in the faded pockets of his Levi's 501 button fly jeans for some change, as he hastily strolled over to the large red Coca-Cola drink machine. After dropping four shiny quarters in the waiting drink machine, he carefully made his selection and waited for the cold drink to appear.

A few seconds later, a cold clear plastic bottle tumbled into the opening. His hand reached in and retrieved his much-desired drink. Jamal held the cold wet bottle in his left hand and promptly twisted open the cap with the other. He slowly brought the perspiring bottle to his open mouth and gladly felt the cold beverage drench his parched throat. As he stood by the machine quenching his thirst, a very angry unit sergeant burst through the tan metal door of the barracks and immediately approached him. ‘Private Walker, the captain has been looking for you. He wants you in his office, like yesterday. What are you waiting for private? I said m. o. v. e., MOVE IT, MOVE IT,' the angry unit sergeant loudly screamed at a startled Jamal.

The captain's office was located in the Special Ops building. It was built on a small hill overlooking the personnel building. The distance was about two miles due west of the barracks. Quickly, Jamal opened the tan door of the barracks and ran across the hot base. He decided to take a short cut through the parade grounds where the soldiers played football. Running at top speed, Jamal reached the Special Operations building in about four minutes.

 
Chapter 3: Special Operation Division

Tiny clear beads of sweat slowly rolled down the dark brown skin of his forehead as Jamal walked into the captain's office. A cold breeze from the air conditioning vents in the well-decorated office welcomed him as he closed the heavy metal door. It felt a lot cooler in the office than it did in the barracks. Sergeant Major Wilson was sitting in a leather office chair with his back to the door as Jamal slowly approached the wooden cherry wood desk. ‘Private Walker reporting as ordered.' he said laboring to catch his breath.

The sergeant major slowly revolved around in the noisy leather chair and stared over his black military issued glasses. Two quick seconds and a few giant steps later; the sergeant major stood three inches from Jamal's perspiring face. The sergeant major was a thin but muscular brown-skinned man. Jamal noticed a long black scar on the side of the sergeant major's face. It was displayed like a badge of honor. His muscular chest displayed a colorful billboard full of various military decorations. His Army issue camouflaged uniform was crisp and very well ironed. The fading reddish brown hairline and military issued black plastic glasses made him look like Malcolm X. Sergeant Major Wilson's deep dark brown eyes stared directly into Jamal's coal black eyes as he loudly replied, ‘Damn, it is about time you got your sorry worthless ass here, private. Do you think Captain Bates has all day to wait on a lazy good for nothing maggot like you, private?'

Every time the sergeant major opened his mouth to insult Jamal with his words, little wet missiles of his spit exploded on Jamal's already soaked face. His face became drenched in perspiration and a layer of the sergeant major's saliva. As his bombardment of insults and saliva continued for what seemed like eternity, Jamal noticed how time and the harsh conditions of thirty-five years of military service had hardened the sergeant major's disfigured face. At that moment, the frosted glass inner-office door slowly opened. A tall, young Chinese American officer forcefully emerged into the outer office. Captain James Arthur Bates or Captain Jab, as the soldiers called him, was in his late thirties and a proud graduate of West Point Military Academy. He was the current base boxing champion for the last three years. Methodically, he straightened his tie and shirt and sauntered toward the sergeant major. He gently placed his tanned hand on the sergeant major's shoulder. Jamal quickly snapped to attention.

‘I am pleased you could make it, Private Walker,' he said sarcastically as he gestured to him to take a seat in the chair. ‘I understand that you graduated in the top 5 percent in your class.'

‘Yes, sir,' Jamal quickly and proudly responded. ‘Sir, I am trained to be the best at what I do.'

The captain continued, ‘It is easier to shoot at a target than it is to kill a moving man. Do you have what it takes to be a ranger, private?'

Jamal graduated from the ranger training school ready for a fight. The running and exercise regiment molded his young body into top condition. He actually enjoyed the intense training that Fort Benning offered. He played middle linebacker on Westside high school football team; therefore, he quickly adjusted to the daily exercise and cross-country running. The Ranger drill instructors systematically transformed a rough eager recruit into a dangerous lethal weapon. Jamal developed into a proficient and skillful armed fighter. An U. S. Army ranger's skills are reserved exclusively for killing the enemy under the dark moonlight. Jamal stared deeply in the hazel eyes of the captain. ‘Yes, sir,' he quickly answered again ‘Sir, I will do what ever it takes to get my job done.'

‘We will see about that,' retorted the sergeant major. He reached and retrieved a crystal glass from his desk and took a loud sip. ‘Captain Jab, he is still green behind the ears. He is a virgin when it comes to killing people. I will bet a month's pay that he goes green as soon as he sees blood,' he implied.

Smiling, the captain laughed and replied, ‘Wilson, everyone goes green the first time they kill a man. Let us see what he can do.‘ The captain briefed Jamal about his mission. At 2200, he was to meet his unit sergeant and another soldier on the helicopter pad. He was assigned as the team scout and point man. He was assigned the task of taking out the enemy guards at the guard shack. After that, he was to backup the team as they break in the complex.

The sergeant major laughed and added, ‘do not get a yellow streak in you and bring back prisoners.'

‘Yellow streak, my ass,' Jamal thought to himself. Jamal abruptly jumped to his feet, saluted Captain Jab, and marched to the door. He could still hear the sergeant major's voice as he stepped out of the office. The voice loudly proclaimed, ‘He is just a boy, Captain Jab. He does not have the guts to do the job.' Jamal tried not to let what Sergeant Major Wilson said irritate him; nevertheless, those words would ring in his ears while he was on the mission.

 
Chapter 4: Prepared and ready to go

The hours hastily rushed by and the time arrived for Jamal picked up the gear he would use on the mission. First Sergeant Roger Pickford transferred a brand new M-16 assault rife across the booth. Sergeant Pickford carefully placed the assault weapon and a case of ammunition on the counter. His large blue eyes quickly glanced across Jamal's face. He inquired, ‘You are new around here. Is this your first mission, son?'

‘Yes, sarge,' Jamal replied and signed for his weapon. ‘I got here a few months ago from Fort Benning. I am assigned to C Company barracks over by the mess hall.''

Sergeant Pickford faced Jamal again. ‘That's good, private. There are only a few rules here,' he announced pointing to the large laminated poster that decorated the wall to the left of the door. The poster read ‘Clean your weapon before you return it, check your weapon to make sure it is unloaded before you return it and keep track of all you ammo you do not use, you will need to return it.'

Jamal departed the armory’s office and headed for the helicopter pad. The time on his watch changed to 2140 as he drove the loaded Ford into the parking lot of the base airport. Jamal opened the driver side door of the blue truck, stepped out of the cab and locked the driver-side door. Slowly, he reached into the back of the bed and retrieved his gear. Later, he heard the deep loud cry from the pipes of a custom Harley as it turned into the parking lot. It was followed by a black 2000 Dodge Ram 2500 truck. The Dodge pulled into the spot right next the Harley. Jamal threw his backpack over his shoulders and began walking toward the far south hangar on the base airport. This was the sector where the base heliport is constructed. Halfway between the parking lot and the hangar, the guy on the motorcycle caught up with him and touched him on the shoulder. The young Irish American soldier replied, ‘Hey are you the new recruit Captain Jab was looking for this morning.' Jamal barely nodded his head and abruptly continued to walk.

By the time, he reached the hangar both men caught up with him. They entered the opened door of the hangar in perfect stride. A dozen eight feet long florescent light fixtures illuminated the hangar from the ceiling. A small table and five chairs were grouped in the center of the hangar. Jamal noticed that two of the chairs were already occupied as they walked closer. The captain and the sergeant major arrived a few minutes before them. ‘I am glad you gentlemen could make it this evening,' Captain Jab sarcastically expressed. After some quick introductions, the captain continued, ‘for a while, I thought that Wilson and I would have to do this mission.' The captain returned their salutes and directed them to sit at the table. He placed four folders that had top-secret stamped across them on the table and strolled to the dry erase board on the north side of the table. ‘Okay, gentlemen, this is the mission' he said.

For the next ninety minutes, Captain Jab steadily detailed the mission to them. They will be flown by helicopter out into the Gulf of Mexico to the small Caribbean Island nation of Tilfar. The mission was clear. Their team would penetrate a weapon laboratory on the island. The sergeant and the corporal were assigned the job of breaking in and hacking into the computer system. The team meeting concluded about 2300. An Army green Chinook helicopter was setting on the helipad waiting for them. The pilot was performing his final inspections as they walked up. Sergeant Shelton and Corporal Richardson sprung into the cargo area of the Chinook. Jamal never could comprehend what had disturbed him. Maybe, it was the assignment as a lookout. Maybe the comment the sergeant major had made earlier was still bothering him. Either way he said very few words during the whole mission. Jamal finished loading the gear and sat down opposite the corporal.

Chapter 5: The island of Tilfar

The target’s location is one hundred and twenty miles south by southeast of the Texas coast. Tilfar became a semi hostile nation after the 1965 ousting of King Rafaela. The Cuban government funded the militants and assisted them in defeating the small Tilfarian army. Afterwards, the diplomatic relations between our two countries has been very strained. The Commonwealth of Tilfar measures approximately 58 miles wide and measures approximately 70 miles long. On the north side of Tilfar was Tanner and on south side San Manito. To the east of Tanner were the 280-acre Venelan rain forest and the weapons laboratory. Since, this was a covert operation; the pilot was instructed to drop the team half a mile from the seacoast. From there, they would use a raft to floating to the beach. Jamal was the first to repel down the rope into the dark cold salt water. As the Chinook departed, the team climbed into the inflatable raft, gathered their gear, and headed south toward Tilfar and the weapon laboratory.

The island was hot and humid, but the scenery was breathtaking. The team of well-trained rangers quietly ascended forty feet up a spectacular granite ridge adjoining the beach. Jamal walked point as they slowly entered the amazing rainforest. Inside the forest, they were greeted by a myriad of colorful birds and fragrant plant life. In the midst of the forest was a mammoth clear-blue freshwater lake. The impressively quiet lake was surrounded by the strong and healthy foliage of the rainforest except on the south side where the weapons laboratory was built. ‘This island would be a good spot to retire,' Jamal thought to himself. After taking about two steps toward the freshwater lake, Jamal spotted a half-hidden land mine. It was slightly protruding from the thick green Bermuda grass. He calmly signaled the sergeant and corporal to stop. Then, he showed them the location of the mines. ‘Well, it is too late to turn back now,' Jamal replied. Slowly and very cautiously, they crossed fifteen rows of land mines.

Jamal signaled to the team to stop a half of a mile away from the gray metal building. Jamal's mission was to secure the guard shack. Afterwards, he would signal the team when the coast was clear. Jamal had been in the Army now for almost three years. This was why he became a U.S. Army Ranger. Cautiously, he continued to travel alone in front of the team. He carefully examined the area through the lens of the night vision scope. Just as the report said, the guard shack stood in the middle of the only road into the laboratory with two guards on duty. This would be the first time he saw any real action. Jamal quickly rehearsed his pending actions over in his mind. Reflecting on the training he had received at Fort Benning, Jamal slowly laid his camouflaged frame in the prone position on the ground. Pressing his body hard against the ground to muffle any sound, he carefully crawled toward the wooden guard shack. As he came closer to the unpainted shack, Jamal silently slipped his Army issued knife out of its case on the side of his pack. He gently positioned the knife between his teeth and continued his slow descent upon the unsuspecting guards. One of the guards proceeded to walk towards him. Jamal immediately stopped and instantly hid himself in some of the surrounding underbrush. The armed guard continued to walk in the same direction. He stopped about four feet to the right of the ranger.

The ranger silently studied his prey. The old gray haired man unzipped the front of his black pants and proceeded to urinate next to the brush where he hid. This was the ranger's prime opportunity. A continuous stream of warm semi-transparent urine flowed from the unsuspecting guard's heavily veined penis. The ranger positioned himself for the kill. The unsuspecting old guard stood with his back to Jamal the entire time he contently continued to relieve his full bladder. In a few remarkably swift and carefully planned moves, Jamal forcefully emerged from his hiding spot. With his left hand, he quickly covered the old man’s mouth. He wrapped his right hand around the butt of his knife. Viciously, Jamal submerged the tip of the custom Bowie Knife serrated metal blade into the side of the overwhelmed guard's esophagus. Then, the ranger used the serrated end to slice the trachea into two pieces. Crimson streams of blood spurted from the open wound and quickly drenched the disabled guard's uniform. The perishing guard's eyes wide grew with fear as he tried to breathe. Jamal turned the weak old man to face him. The ranger inserted the bloody blade of his knife deep into the mutilated and battered guard's stomach.

Jamal made a penetrating semi circle cut on the mortality wounded guard's stomach. The horrified guard's large intestine instantly slipped out between the folds of the cut bloody skin. Jamal slowly helped the dying man to the ground. As the bleeding corpse continued to twitch on the grass, the ranger promptly went to work. Rivers of red liquid gushed out from the light pink wound and stained the green grass as Jamal continued to slice open the victim's stomach. Skillfully, Jamal removed the liver, spleen, and kidneys. The stench of bile wafted in the air when the ranger cut a section of the semi- transparent gruesome looking large intestines in two and placed it in a freezer bag along with the other organs. Then, Jamal carefully stored the transparent bag in his backpack. He retrieved a present for someone. ‘That was too easy,' he sadistically said to himself. ‘It is time to get my other present.'

The other guard was still in the guard shack. He was about 20 or 21 years old and ignorant of the demise of the old man. He danced with his weapon to the beat of the melody of a song as the ranger silently crept to the rear the hut. Jamal could hear salsa coming from the transistor radio. Unnoticed, he gradually crept through the open door. By the time the song ended, the lackadaisical soldier turned around to find Jamal standing behind him. The naive young guard nervously tried to protect himself. However, it was too late. The ranger's blood stained sharp edged metal blade forcefully plunged into the base of the front of his neck. For a few seconds, he examined Jamal's eyes as if to ask, ‘why?' Jamal violently rammed the knife further into the perishing boy's throat and watched him die. The primed ranger disemboweled him as he did the other and placed the second container in his backpack. Upon finishing his job, Jamal snatched the dead boy's half-eaten sandwich and stuffed it in the corpse’s mouth. ‘Did your mom ever tell you to finish your food,' he laughed rudely as he signaled to the team waiting in the forest.

When the team reached his position, a crimson pool of blood covered the wooden floor. The strong stench of bile seasoned the air inside the small shack. Jamal drugged the deceased elderly man across the wooden floor of the security shack. The old man's abdomen skins waved back and forward. The motion exposed the bloody pinkish inside of the dead man's abdomen and the mutilated intestines. Corporal Richardson abruptly stopped and stared at the revolting sight. Seconds later, he retreated to the open door to release chunks of pinkish vomit outside. When the pale corporal returned, he wiped some vomit off his lips and proclaimed, ‘Man, you are one sick soldier.'

‘Yeah, I know. Just leave me alone and I will be fine,' Jamal replied as he retrieved the dead man gun.

It took the sergeant and the corporal about thirty minutes to complete the job. They broke into the facility and secured all the personnel inside. Corporal Richardson hacked into the computer, and copied all the files. When they were done, the corporal downloaded a virus into the system that locked the whole facility down. It took the enemy about six weeks to determine what he had done to the system.

 
Chapter 6: Two presents for the sergeant major.

The team arrived at the pickup spot ten minutes before the Chinook reach the destination. Jamal handled point as the sergeant then the corporal was raised up into the hovering stationary Chinook. After a brief postponement, Jamal was hoisted up. The Chinook immediately took off for the home base. Jamal took a seat next to the corporal. The corporal looked at Jamal. ‘Are you some kind of deranged psychopathic killer? You did not have to kill them. You could have tied them up or just knocked them out. Man, you are sick,' he said.

‘Yeah, I know.’ Jamal closed his eyes and went to sleep. What seem like only a few minutes later, Jamal felt someone's hand on his shoulder as he slowly opened his heavy eyelids. ‘Hey, it is time to unload. We are at Fort Hope.' The pilot said. It was approximately 0600 and Jamal had something he really needed to do. The team unloaded and they returned their weapons and equipment.

Sergeant Shelton said, ‘I will see you guys at debriefing at 1400. I am going home to get some sleep.' He started his Dodge and departed.

Corporal Richardson mounted the Harley and took a long stare at Jamal. He shook his head and started his bike. ‘Man, you got some serious issues,' were the final words he spoke to him that night.

The time was 0800; Jamal knew precisely where the sergeant major would be. At 0400, he runs five miles from the NCO mess hall to the parade ground. At 0600, he trains the base self defense classes. So right around now, he should be just coming into the office. Jamal sat in the Ford as the sergeant major's maroon convertible 1998 Jaguar sped into the parking lot. Sergeant Major Wilson tarried a few minutes to talk to a young lady before he entered Special Operations building. Jamal gradually exited the truck, entered the building, and carefully opened the door of the unit's office. He was carrying his backpack with him. Jamal entered the tranquil office. The sergeant major sat at his desk with his back to the door. Jamal abruptly spoke. ‘Good morning, Sergeant Major.'

The haggard sergeant major turned in his leather chair and looked at Jamal over his glasses. ‘So, private, did you have the guts to carry out your mission,' he inquired.

Jamal emphatically reached into his backpack to retrieve the two bags. He opened them and dumped the rank despicable contents on the desk. By this time, they had developed a very disgusting foul odor and it immediately permeated the entire office. ‘Here they are, Sergeant Major. You tell me.' Jamal wasted an entire day cleaning up the mess in the sergeant major's office. He was also docked one-month pay for that stunt, and spent three weeks in psychotherapy.